You Smell Like Rubber

Growing up, my sister used to always laugh at me for talking in my sleep. Occasionally I would actually yell at her about something, then have absolutely no recollection of it the next morning. So last night when the Man came home from the gym after I was already in bed, it's no surprise that I vaguely remember this conversation:

The Man [crawling into bed]: "Hey I'm home. Sorry it's so late."
Me: "Mmmhmm."
The Man: "I love you."
Me: "You smell like rubber."
The Man: "What?"
Me: "I smell rubber. You smell like rubber."
The Man [smells his hands]: "I don't get it. I smell like rubber?"
Me: "YES! You smell like...a rubber band."
The Man: "Oh it's probably because I was helping Shalley with his workouts. He uses huge rubber bands kinda like the chains."
Me: "You smell like an eraser."
The Man: "Well, now you can have sweet dreams of middle school."
Me: "More like nightmares. I hated middle school."
The Man: "Ok, how about elementary school?"
Me: "Yeah that's ok."
The Man: "I love you, sweetheart. Goodnight."
Me: "Please keep your rubber hands away from my face....I love you too."

At least, I'm hoping I told him I loved him. Sometimes I can get pretty mean when in a half-conscious stupor. Shows him right for coming home late and smelling like rubber.